


white lies, white lines

by foxes



Category: Little Mix (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Friendship/Love, M/M, Male Slash, Multi, Slash, super rich kids au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:56:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxes/pseuds/foxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis, niall, zayn, harry, and liam are a small circle of over-privileged best friends who all grew up in wealthy families without a single care in the world, don’t trust anyone but each other, and have wild things stuffed up in their bones. and somehow - in the midst of the late nights, drunken bar fights, stolen kisses, sunrises and secrets, dilated eyes, unrequited love, drugs, and numerous run-ins with the police - everything comes tearing apart at the seams and money, social status, nor trivial material objects can hold it all together anymore</p><p>but sometimes, we all have to fall apart to rebuild</p><p>(based on - super rich kids / frank ocean)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. white noise

**Author's Note:**

> the stories are placed in a series of happenings told from each boy's point of view, five different sets and plots that interconnect and overlap

* _Louis Tomlinson_

“Money equals power and power equals respect.”

That’s the only vivid memory Louis has of bonding with his father. He was a measly twelve years old, just on the cusps of his teenage years and a sudden downward spiral of his innocence, when his father infused those words into his mind as he slyly slipped Louis his very first oner before his first day of private school.

“If someone doesn’t respect you, son, you make them.” He’d told him firmly, blue eyes hard and unyielding. “You let them know exactly where you come from, exactly how much _power_ you’ve got, understand?”

Louis remembers the way he’d nodded feebly; shaggy, brown hair falling into his eyes as he stared at the bill in-between his lanky fingers with wonder. He’d looked up into his father’s eyes, ocean blue orbs that matched his own and gave him a toothy smile before murmuring a cheerful thank you to him. His father had never been the “ruffle-his-hair-and-say-I-love-you” type, but the firm pat-and-grip to Louis’s shoulder that shook his growing frame was the living equivalent.

But Louis’ nineteen now and he can’t recall the last time he’s seen his father in the past month, can’t recall the last time they’d spoken more than two words of acknowledgement to one another.

Honestly, he really doesn’t mind his father’s absence, because the interactions they do have aren’t very pleasant for him anymore and usually end up with a very troublesome, vindictive Louis slipping into the driver’s side of one his father’s prized possessions – his cars – and speeding around the town at 120mph hoping that he totals the goddamn thing as he bites the insides of his cheeks so hard, he tastes his own rusty blood.

He sometimes hopes he’d get smashed up along with it, but he wants to be alive to see his father’s reaction the day something critical and terminal happens to him. He wants to see the regret consume and contort his features, gobble up the pigment in his skin and the gleam in his eyes. He wants to watch the instantaneous emotional pain strangle his father before he goes. There’s nothing Louis hates more than his own father.

Maybe the fact that he’s coincidentally turned up to be just like him, but.

“Bertha,” Louis calls casually as he flicks the locks of hair falling in his eyes away.

“Sir, you called?” Bertha enters his quarters, asking rather perkily.

Louis grins at her. Bertha is a nineteen year old Spanish girl with caramel hair and bright, brown eyes his father had hired to serve as his personal maid in the late evenings, early mornings on weekends when she hasn’t got class up at her uni. He’s got four of them, collectively, but he prefers Bertha, because the only thing perkier than Bertha’s shining personality is her d-cup tits that bounce with merriment when she walks.

“If you happen to stumble across either of my parents, let them know I’ve run off.” He tells her as he slips on his signature denim jacket over his plain, black, deep v-neck t-shirt.

“Mr. Horan’s?” She asks, eyes shining with amusement.

“Of course,” He replies, looking over his appearance once more. “I don’t anticipate coming home, but have the cooks whip me up a nice steak just in case I decide to.”

What he really means is if he and the boys decide not to go out and get out-of-their minds fucked and he can’t find a nice girl to get a nice lay in with, he’ll be home by sunrise, high and hungry.

“Will do, sir.” She nods with a smile which Louis returns.

“Excellent,” And he grabs his aviators, his leather wallet, and the keys to his father’s brand new Rolls-Royce Phantom. “Also, if my father happens to inquire where the hell his shiny, new Royce went, let him know that Louis knows about Angie and is just having a nice spin around the city.”

Without a word of acknowledgement, Louis slips out of his quarters and tramples down the stairs with ease, nodding happily and spitting bright ‘hello’s at every worker he’d seen on the way down. Sometimes he wonders why he doesn’t just call his family’s workers mum and dad as they’re the only ones who seem to have taken actual care of him as a child.

His parents are so daft and unaware of him most times that he almost wishes his father would inquire about his suddenly missing cars just so Louis can let him know where they’ve gone and that he knows.

He knows about everything, about the other women, about the extended business holidays his mother was oddly enough not allowed to attend with him and what the content of his ‘business’ contained. He knew about the money that his father was hiding from his mother just in case they got a divorce, knew about the pre-signed divorce papers hidden in his desk.

He knew that his father was setting up a backup plan, a backup life (with a substitute wife and son, too, probably), just in case this all ever blew back up in his face.

His father has been prepared for years to get the hell out of dodge.

Asshole.

And when the burning red anger comes seeping underneath his skin again, Louis has this tendency to act out, because he couldn’t very well talk to either of his parents about the pent up things he kept in a nook within his head that troubled him every day. He found refuge in Niall Horan, though. Niall Horan was a little Irishmen whose father owned a chain of breweries distributing his own creation of authentic, Irish beer all around the world.

Like Louis, Niall was unnecessarily loaded.

And when his own father owns approximately 32 successful exclusive, golfing/country clubs in the UK, Australia, and North America and Niall’s owns his own line of beer, their fathers were bound to become business buddies while Niall and Louis were bound to become best friends.

But unlike Louis, Niall was durable. It took much more than a few daddy issues and lack of parental attention to break his carefree stance on life. And that’s what made he and Louis like magnets, attracting without warning when they stumbled across each other, because all of the dirty demons that Louis couldn’t bear, all of the burdens that weighed him down and sent him sinking into a sea of himself, Niall was able to take it on for him, hold onto them until Louis could breathe properly again.

And Louis has too much pride, like his father, to admit that Niall is his anchor, that Niall has saved him so many times that he officially hasn’t got enough fingers and toes to count them on.

Silently, though, in the quiet and in darker places, Louis thanks him.

 

 

When Louis enters the Horan Manor, he isn’t at all surprised to hear the sound of “Bad Religion” by Frank Ocean consuming the entire home and to see Niall lounging languidly along his couch, sprawled out in nothing but grey sweats and a single leg dangling, with aviator sunglasses covering his sea blue eyes while he nursed one of his father’s signature beers in one hand.

This is how Niall medicates a bad hangover.

His unnaturally blonde hair is in disarray atop his head, spiking out here and there, dark roots bleeding through his scalp. He’s belting along to the song, the butler who let Louis in the gates clearing his throat to alert him of company, but going completely ignored between falsettos and awkward hand gestures.

Louis has never loved anyone more than Nialler.

They’ve been best friends for as long as he can remember, since Louis was ten and Niall was eight. They’ve since then added to their circle of entrusted friends, but they’re the beginning of a legacy, Louis thinks, and they’ll be the end of it as well, he’s sure. If there’s ever anything that Louis could never doubt, it’s that the bond between he and Niall could never be broken. It’s one of those things that shaped his soul. Niall’s a piece of him that he’ll take with him to the grave.

And hold on to it even in his death.

“Amazing,” Louis decides, earning an inappropriate finger gesture from his Irish mate as he continues to belt. “I vividly remember you saying you’ve got the worst hangover on the planet and you nurse it with more alcohol, loud music, and shades to shield your aching eyes from the sunlight you’re purposely letting in. Absolutely fantastic,”

“Fuck you, I’m makin’ meself immune to ‘em.” He retorts and Louis squawks a laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Your entire life could be described as one, long, endless hangover.”

Niall groans and slips off his sunglasses to reveal the now blazing red whites in his eyes and blown pupils. Louis gives him a cheshire cat of a grin, a sinister quirk of his lips. It’s eleven in the morning and his best mate is critically stoned without him and had it been anyone else, Louis would be morbidly offended, but it’s Niall and he should know by now that if he doesn’t make it to Niall’s by nine on a Sunday morning, he’s missing out on a heavy wake n’ bake session.

“You started without me?” Louis feigns offense, hand clutching at his chest.

“Oy, Zayn proper got me sorted on supply last night.” He starts, slowly finding his way to his feet. “Come up ‘t me room, let you get a whiff of it. Shit’s absolutely dank, mate.” Louis follows behind him and up the winding, oak staircase. “Christoph,” He calls to his butler whose head obediently snaps up to meet Niall’s gaze with a pleasant smile.

“Yes, sir?”

“Could ya get someone to get some beer to me room? Don’t think we’ll be down for a while, mate.”

“Of course, sir, absolutely.”

 

Being high and being Louis are two things that go together very well.

Louis has been high, admittedly, a many of times. He’s been considerably high in a lot of obscure places. He’s been a number of types of high, but never quite like this, never even half as lifted as he is right now just after three hits from the blunt Niall’s pre-rolled for them. He wonders, only briefly, what exactly this was that Zayn’s sold Niall, but the thought is replaced with the wonder of his existence.

He feels half-imagined, half-alive, like a dream; blurry and glowing.

He and Niall are laying in the middle of Niall’s cherry-oak, hardwood floor with the sound of Trani by Kings Of Leon reverberating around the four walls of his room. Niall’s eyes are shut tight, a lazy smile tugging at his lips and he feels the song fill up all of his bones and buzz comfortably with a warm hum. It almost feels physical enough for him to grab it with his fingertips, take hold of the lyrics and the sweet sound of the guitar.

“This is the best song in the entire world.” Louis declares softly.

He’s out for the count, he knows. He’s sorted and decently high. Niall’s nursing the blunt between his thin lips, sucking in a big cloud of smoke and holding it in his lungs until his head feels fuzzy like white noise. Niall parts his lips slowly and his chest falls gradually as an avalanche of smoke comes tumbling out of his mouth and swirling around in the air. Louis can’t help but stare at it with absolute intrigue. He reaches up toward the cloud, reaching for a handful of the cloudy substance only to have it part and dissipate upon contact.

And Louis, he thinks that everything in his life is just like this smoke, he just can’t seem to grab proper hold of it. He just can’t seem to _catch_ it.

He’s lucky, he knows. He knows of a number of people who would kill to have the life he has, to have the money his has, to be able to uphold the type of lifestyle he has, but he sometimes wonders what he’d be like if he’d never been born on the peak of a mountain made of cash and a lack of a moral compass or the motivation to do anything for himself.

But he wouldn’t change anything about this, anything about having the things that surround him at all times. He doesn’t believe he’s cut out for “normal”. He doesn’t know how to survive without money and material objects to fill in the aching void where his compassion and childhood should be.

“Ace,” Louis breathes.

Niall and Louis share a look before Niall’s eyes shut tight and a laugh comes barreling out of his mouth without warning, little remains of smoke following. And because everything Niall does is absolutely contagious, Louis finds himself laughing along with him so hard that he’s sure his soul has torn apart from his being.

“Call Zayn and ask him precisely this.” Louis begins, pointing a finger at Niall. “Zayn fucking Malik, what in the actual fuck is in this weed?”

Niall’s still laughing, but manages to nod his head between giggles and heavy breaths. “Dunno, but I’m proper stoned and I could probably do anything.”

Louis doesn’t think so, doesn’t think he could do just _anything_ , but he thinks he could do the one thing he’s relatively excellent at a bit better than he already does, if he says so himself.

“Wonderful,” Louis grin mischievously. “Let’s get in some trouble, yeah?”


	2. the quiet things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> niall's got secrets he just isn't sure he can keep for much longer  
> and harry styles is the only one who knows

* _Niall Horan_

Niall Horan has always been a comparatively simple man. For the whole of his life, he’s held on to this belief, a motto if you will, that if you put so much emphasis on who you are, if you thought too much about it, tried too hard to be a certain way, that you weren’t just _be_ ing at all. And that’s the only way he knows to live, to just be. He relishes in his carefree attitude, which has proven to be a both blessing and a curse for him. He’s never been the type to question himself. He just does.

He’s Niall Horan born and bred in the heart of Ireland, seventeen years old, and hasn’t got a single care in the world. The world is far too beautiful and there are an infinite number of possibilities as to what he can do on it, but his lifespan isn’t as broad as the horizon those possibilities rest on. He can’t find it in him to linger on trivial details so long that he misses out on everything around him.

He laughs when he finds something humorous, which is more often than not, because as long as he’s laughing he swears he’s going to be fine. He eats when he believes he’s hungry. He cries when he’s upset and he gets over it as well. He says exactly what he means without regard, because he’s never had enough energy to be a liar and he doesn’t know how to be careful with things that may be fragile against words. He wears things that he feels are comfortable. He flirts with people he finds attractive. He loves people he finds intriguing.

He sees this outstanding good in everyone. He’s excruciatingly trusting towards others and he often finds himself being used without being aware that he’s being used.

Niall is _good_.

He’s _innocent_.

He just _is_.

Or, at least, he was.

Niall’s got flaws, little freckles of imperfections dotted all along his skin, all underneath his bones and he knows that, accepts it for what it is and doesn’t dwell on it. His biggest flaw, though, happens to be his lack of tact when it comes to keeping secrets between himself and another party. He sometimes thinks he’s better off not knowing things rather than constantly biting the words off of the tip of his tongue and swallowing them down whole.

Especially when it comes right down to a certain Louis Tomlinson.

But the kind of secrets Niall keeps now, he couldn’t disregard them and be oblivious to them at all even if he tried, even if he wanted to, especially when these are things that hit him a little close to home.

And that secret is Harry Styles.

Niall’s never once in his seventeen years of living questioned his sexuality. He’s not gay, no. He knows he isn’t, but there’s something about Harry’s lopsided grin and all his long limbs, his curly bedhead that he constantly shakes out, and the way his laugh echoes around the room and consumes all of the oxygen in it all at once that makes Niall’s head tilt to the side and squint his eyes really tight to think really hard about who he is.

Harry Styles is a lot of things.

He’s a scheme of smoke and a breath full of winter, a wander through forestry, a patch of skin bathed in a burst of sunshine. You know? Harry’s the kind of things that make your chest ache, but let you know you’re alive. Niall doesn’t know why, doesn’t know what it is about him, but he likes him.

He likes the way Harry talks, slow and leisurely, like he has to feel every inch, every syllable, and every letter of a word before he lets it slip from between his teeth and his tongue. He likes Harry’s bad jokes and always laughs anyway, because it causes this little quirk of his thin lips and Niall happens to like the little dimple that makes home on Harry’s right cheek when he does. Niall just likes Harry and thinks the he maybe wants to hang out with him for a while; all the time, if he can.

But Louis is Niall’s best friend and Louis doesn’t happen to know that Niall thinks he could probably become a poet with the way he thinks about Harry’s pea green eyes.

Niall’s been swallowing down his own guilt for the past three months about him and Harry, but guilt tastes like spoiled milk to him and he wants to spill himself out every time he and Louis are within a 35 foot radius of each other, because he’s never kept a single thing from Louis ever.

It feels sickening to hold anything back from the one person you trust more with your life than your own parents.

When Louis turned thirteen and all his family’s help put together him a huge surprise birthday party and they’d come to Niall and asked him for help (because nobody knows Louis and what Louis likes better than Louis’ help and Niall) and had sworn him to secrecy all in the same breath, it’d taken Niall approximately four hours before he broke down and told Louis about his birthday party down to the very finest detail: that they were going to use whipped icing for his ice-cream cake.

Niall is loyal to Louis down to the very core, too.

So, sitting next to him biting his lip so hard he’s sure he’s going to draw blood, it always takes everything in him not to spill about he and Harry, but Niall doesn’t think he can, because he’s not sure how Louis will react to the fact that he has a boyfriend and Niall’s not sure how Louis will react to the fact that his boyfriend is their mutual friend, Harry Styles, and Niall doesn’t want to be the one to out Harry to the boys or to anyone at all.

Niall isn’t ashamed of it, because Niall isn’t gay. He’s got nothing to be ashamed about, even if he were. Niall doesn’t have any physical attraction to other males, but everything in life has an exception and Harry is his. But Harry hasn’t come out about his sexuality and Niall doesn’t think it’s his place to do so for him.

So he just bites his tongue about the “Harry thing”.

“Is your dad here, mate?” Niall asks as he steps out of Louis’ father’s car and notices that he’s standing in front of Louis’s father’s country club in London as well.

“Don’t be silly.” Louis tells him with a short shake of his head. “I’m not nearly stoned enough to intentionally come within a ten-foot radius of that man. We’re here to have a bit of fun.”

“Aren’t we always?” Niall asks under his breath.

Niall slips on his sunglasses to hide the blown look in his blue eyes from anyone that happens to pass by him and Louis as he makes his way toward the entrance of the club. Louis has always been a little more reckless than him and wears his dilated, red eyes proudly as he walks inside with Niall following after him obediently.

Silently, Niall hopes that Louis grows bored with this all soon and it’s over, because they’re to meet up with the other boys in two hours and the anticipation of seeing Harry again for the first time in three days since he and his family had come back from their mini-holiday in Rome is buzzing around the entirety of Niall’s being. He’s nervous, he thinks, because he doesn’t know how he’ll be able to keep his hands to himself with this overwhelming happiness to see him coming to life and unfolding in him.

The hostess to his father’s club is waiting at the entrance as she should be and Niall thinks that if he weren’t in a committed something with someone else, she’d be his type. She’s a tiny-framed blonde with bright blue eyes, unusually pale skin, and plump pink lips that he thinks would feel nice wrapped around his cock. She looks fragile, but the sturdiness in her eyes that builds when she takes notice of Louis lets Niall know that she isn’t.

And she also isn’t unfamiliar with Louis or his antics.

“Well, well, well, look who’s moving on up in the company! From terrible waitress to grumpy hostess!” Louis says with a burst of excitement, clapping his hands together and smiling broadly at her. “Perrie, darling, good to see you, as always.”

She glares at him then and Niall can see her biting the insides of her cheeks. “What do you want, you demented twat?”

And Niall can’t fight off the laugh that bubbles up in his throat, because this girl has got cheek behind that thick accent of hers and Louis joins in with him, maybe because he finds it funny or maybe to save face in front of a girl that quite obviously dislikes him, Niall isn’t sure.

“Charming as ever, you are. Obviously, I want to go inside. Maybe have a round of golf with my mate Niall here, maybe have a drink, maybe have lunch served to me by a pretty blonde named Perrie in stilettos. Who knows? The possibilities are endless, really, as I happen to own this establishment.”

“You’re a pig.” She spits at him and dangles a set of keys in front of him.

Louis takes them from her with a mischievous grin and asks, “It’s Friday, isn’t it?”

Perrie nods then, not bothering to look at Louis any further and turns her attention down to a magazine with an uninterested expression on her face. Louis walks through the second set of French doors that allows them into the lobby of the club to either be seated for lunch, let in the area of the bar (where Niall smiles briefly, because that’s his father’s logo above the arch entrance), or let into golfing lobby to rent clubs and pick-up golfing carts.

Every room is littered with wealthy, upper-class, middle-aged men and their teenaged sons in matching attire holding wine-glasses or pints in their hands laughing and mingling with other men as Coldplay plays on a low hum overhead. Niall hates places like this, places where wealthy people gather to have a pissing contest about who has the most money or the nicest things and brag about their companies and what their children are doing with their lives and how much success they have over other people.

He mostly hates them because his dad always takes his older brother Greg to places like this, but not him. Niall supposes it’s because Greg is the golden child with the charming smile and the outstanding education marks while Niall is wild, loud, boisterous, and has the tendency to skip out on school to run around with Louis and the other boys and Niall has no intentions to further his education to university after college is over.

He shrugs at the thought, because he’s got access to an insane amount of money already and he knows he’s going to have access to even more money when his father finally kicks the bucket, so what’s the point of torturing himself with two years of university? To make more money? What for?

“Why’s it matter if it’s a Friday?” Niall asks.

“They’ve just spruced up the entire field for the week is why it matters.” Louis says, walking toward the golfing lobby.

Louis has this endless endeavor to piss off his dad, Niall knows.

“Oy. No, get me a beer first, lad!” Niall whines and tugs at Louis’s shirt. “I don’t know what we’re up ‘t, but I know my high is wearin’ off and I’m gonna need sometin’ for whatever it is we’re doin’.”

Louis simply grins at him, clasping the younger lad’s shoulder. “We’re going to do whatever we want to do as we always do, Nialler, just a bit more of it today.” And as Louis turns swiftly and heads for the bar, Niall’s phone vibrates in his hands.

* _Came by yours and apparently you’re out getting in trouble with Lou. Care to elaborate? x – Harry_

Niall smiles to himself, because just the sight of Harry’s name causes this warmth to bloom in his tummy, warmth he didn’t know could even exist in him. It’s this raw state of happiness, pure sunshine, a kind of happy that only Harry can pull out of him. He doesn’t tell him that, though, because Niall has never been one to outwardly romanticize anything.

* _Hopin we dun get arrested and havin a pint. See you soon, yeah?_

It takes Louis and Niall approximately an hour and a half to be thrown out of the country club for destruction of property and causing a huge disturbance with actual members of the club. Louis has this grin on his lips as they’re being escorted out by a burly security officer and the tight-lipped manager. Niall watches Louis steal a glance at Perrie as they’re leaving and he blows her a playful kiss, which she greets with a scowl and the narrow of her pretty eyes.

“Edwards, here.” The manager says as he hands her a mop and a pail of dirty soap water. “There’s a mess in the bar lounge and in the girl’s restroom.”

Her mouth falls open to say something, but she clamps it shut at the sight of her manager’s angry, impatient eyes and nods sadly before shuffling into the building. Niall frowns to himself, because he doesn’t like to make other people’s lives more difficult if they don’t deserve it. And he doesn’t know what’s gone on between her and Louis to say that she doesn’t deserve it, but Niall knows Louis well enough to know that he’s vindictive and bratty and she probably didn’t do anything to him.

He more than likely just enjoys taking the piss out of her.

“I’ll be ringing up your father, I hope you know.” The manager seethes at Louis.

Louis shrugs.  “S’not that big of a deal.”

“Taking golf carts around the course for no other reason than to mess up the field, digging up the grass, pouring trails of beer behind you, and jeopardizing others’ games is completely out of line!” He yelps at Louis and tugs at his sandy hair in frustration. “Your friend here threw up all over our bloody girls’ bathroom sinks! I’m sure your father will be absolutely thrilled about this.”

“I’m sure this is the most exciting thing to happen here all week.” Louis states. “You should be thanking me.”

Niall watches as the man’s pale face is suddenly consumed with a deep shade of red. “GET. OUT! BOTH OF YOU!”

And they do.

The two boys scamper out of the club in fits of giggles about the look on the man’s face and make their way back to the fancy sports car they’d come in. Niall doesn’t know why Louis gets such a kick out of pissing his dad off just to complain about how horrible of a man he is, but Louis is fun to be around and so Niall doesn’t like to question him too often.

“You threw up in the girls’ bathroom?” Louis asks suddenly and bursts into breathless laughter.

Niall blushes, shrugging his shoulder lightly. “We kept drivin’ ‘t cart in circles! I was dizzy and couldn’t tell!”

Louis continues to laugh at him as he starts the car and Niall can’t help but join, because that’s how it goes between he and Louis. They do stupid things together and they’re the only ones who laugh about it later. And that’s okay for them, because it works and it’s the easiest thing for them to do to remember who they are and not become like their parents.

This is how they stay grounded.

Or as grounded as two over-privileged boys with endless amounts of money driving a stolen Royce can stay.

 

 

They meet up with the boys at Harry’s and are 45 minutes late, because Louis stops and wants to get stoned a little more and now Niall is buzzing and smiling at the single thought of Harry. Louis thinks nothing of it, writes it off as Niall being _too_ high to function anymore, but Niall’s been vigorously texting Harry about his eagerness to see him, how he can’t wait to get him alone already, how he hopes the party tonight is so wild that no one notices the two of them slipping away.

Louis was right. He’s just too high and his already lack of filter is completely diminished in this state.

They pull up to Harry’s house, which is surprisingly small and cozy compared to his own manor. Harry’s parents were never ones for luxury, as it was just the three of them. There was a huge contrast between Harry and his family and the other boys and their families. Harry’s mother and father saw no desire for big houses or fancy things, as they lived in a one-story, three bedroom house that was just enough for them to all have their own space and had two cars: an Escalade shared between Harry’s mum and dad and a black Jeep Wrangler for Harry.

Harry was even sporting some outdated flip-phone that he’d gotten when he was twelve and has since then refused to change from or upgrade. They were somewhat conventional, seeing more value in simplicity and family rather than things, which none of the boys understood, because the Styles’ family was unbelievably loaded.

Harry’s mum, Anne Styles, was a retired, award-winning actress in her earlier years, but was now an active hippie living off of her pensions and spending her free-time in her garden growing flowers and vegetables and doing intense yoga while his father was an investment banker who had, at the request of Anne, invested in multiple chains of health food stores around the world and with the sudden influx of people aching to live healthy lifestyles, the market was in great condition and so was his wallet.

The Styles family were the type of people that donated to charity for the purposes of feeling like they were helping make the world better place for us all to live in.

Sometimes, Niall wasn’t sure how Harry fit in with the four of them, but he did.

Harry, Zayn, and Liam are standing at the top of Harry’s driveway when Niall and Louis pull up. Zayn’s dressed in his usual black tee-shirt with a graphic Niall can’t make sense of, holey jeans that are stained with splatters of spray paint, and a red and black plaid shirt tied around his waist. Zayn’s got a blonde strip in his hair now with blue tinged at the tip of it.

He’s a stereotypical artist, though, so Niall isn’t surprised by it.

Liam’s got his arm hooked over Zayn’s shoulder casually, his freehand shoved into the pocket of his baggy cargo shorts. His hair is messy like he’s just hopped out of bed or has just finished hopping in bed with someone else. They’re all laughing and Niall wonders if it’s at something Harry said, because he’s got that stupid grin on his face he loves and Niall matches it at the thought of someone finally laughing at one of his jokes and wonders how much it pleased him.

Niall doesn’t want to think of the way Harry looks right now, shirtless and only in these skin-tight black jeans with a bandanna tied to one of his belt-loops and those goddamn rugged boots he absolutely refuses to get rid of. All his tattoos are visible and his hair’s freshly trimmed so he doesn’t have to move it out of his face much anymore. His skin is a few shades darker than it was before he left, too.

Fuck, he looks good. Really good.

And Niall just wants to kiss him from his pretty lips all the way down to his stupid moth tattoo just to hear the sudden increase in his breathing as he grins and makes his way back up his long torso again and leaves red marks on the beaks of both of those sparrows to give them a bit more color before moving to his neck and –

“Are you going to get out of my car anytime soon, Nialler, or just sit in here and stare off into space?” Louis asks as he stands outside the driver’s side, knocking Niall right out of his train of thought.

“Oy, sorry, mate.” Niall says softly and tries hard to scare away the butterflies in his belly as they make their way up.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for readin' :)


End file.
